At the End of the Road Lies an Empty House
by HouAreYouToday
Summary: Jake Holmes thought he was retired and far enough away from Los Angeles, until he gets a desperate plea for help from Dr. Laura Watson, former partner and now, the main suspect of an unfortunate crime. Sequel to Redemption. [UPDATED! Chapter 5]
1. At the End of the Road

Chapter 1: At the End of the Road

On some mornings, I still wonder about my good fortune, and the path that led me to this place, Everett Ridge. Everett Ridge is my vineyard, a 17 acre parcel with 10 acres of symmetrical vines, and a very picturesque 60 foot waterfall near the edge of the estate. It is the last one, at the end of the road, fitting for someone like myself who desires such solitude. It is no small thing, running a vineyard, but I have managed to do just fine, with just Ralph my marketing consultant, Harold my one full-time employee/production manager, and occasional part-time workers when harvesting season comes.

My house is lonely, as I, my housekeeper Eliza, and my grapes have the estate all to ourselves. Since my return from an impromptu trip during the Christmas season to Los Angeles four months ago, however, I have given myself up entirely to the comforting country life with its peace, something I had often longed for during my years of being right in the thick of the dirt and grime and congestion that defines the very core of LA itself.

Of course, I could never deny that the city was still very much a part of me, and I was reminded of that very early one morning while out on my customary stroll around my estate. "Jake!" The familiar voice behind me stopped me in my morning walk around my peaceful little vineyard.

The drawl was unmistakable. "I wouldn't have believed it if I didn't see it for myself. Jake Holmes, giving up the fast urban life for the crawl of the country?"

"Ah, Lestrade," I turned around, attempting to smile cordially at the man whose scratchy voice and heavy footsteps on the path had broken the quiet tranquility of the early morning.

The former LAPD detective turned FBI agent Lestrade was staring at me, incredulous. "You really did retire. I didn't believe it at first, but…" his voice trailed off as he gestured to me, and then to the rows of vines on the trellis next to the path.

Maggie O'Donnell, the tall redhead beside him, grinned at me. "It's good to see you again, Holmes," she said as she gave me a very brief hug, which I did not bother to return.

I smiled at her, however, this time with a bit more sincerity. A quick survey of the two agents immediately brought to my attention several key points, all of which indicated some critical situation at hand. "Yes, but I do wish it was under better circumstances. This case you want to consult me on must be a pressing one."

Lestrade and Maggie shared a look, before turning back to face me. "Yes," Maggie finally answered, hesitantly.

"For two FBI agents to have driven two hundred miles…" I briefly considered reiterating that I was retired for a reason, but there was something not quite right about the whole situation. Neither Maggie nor Lestrade would meet my scrutinizing gaze. This was an interesting development. Lestrade would normally be bursting with the case development already, wanting to pick my brain before running back and taking all the credit for something I'd consider but a trifle.

"Let's head back to the house, and you can tell me why you found it necessary to interrupt my morning walk."

* * *

I passed the steaming hot mugs of coffee to the two agents, who were, by the minute, looking more and more reluctant to be there. I made no effort to relieve them of their discomfort, as it gave me ample opportunity to observe them. 

After fixing my own coffee, black with two sugars, I sat down deliberately in an armchair, and watched as they took the well worn brown leather couch next to me.

Maggie was the first to break the long silence. "We'd like to ask your opinion on a recent case."

I settled back in my chair and closed my eyes.

"Two nights ago, a man was discovered stabbed 5 times, twice in the chest, three times in the neck, right outside a bar. He's currently in a coma right now. There were no witnesses to the attack, and no one in the bar heard or saw anything," Lestrade began. "There's no trace evidence, no footprints, no fingerprints, no DNA, nothing at the scene."

"No forensics at all?" I opened eyes, a bit skeptical.

Lestrade shook his head. "Nothing in the preliminaries."

"No murder weapon?"

"No."

I sighed, leaning forward in my chair, fixing each of them with a pointed look. "It has been incredibly obvious to me, even before you've said anything about the case, that neither of you has found it important enough to tell me the entire story."

Lestrade and Maggie shared a deer-in-the-headlights look.

Triumphant, I cocked an eyebrow. "I don't see why I should care to offer my opinion. After all, not telling me everything will completely ruin any chance I have at helping you in the first place."

"Just let us finish it our way, at least for old times' sake, Jake," Lestrade implored. "Please."

Lestrade was never one to say please. Yet another intriguing development.

I leaned back into my chair, acquiescing. "Like anyone as the suspect?"

Maggie was the one who continued. "We think his fiancé might have something to do with it."

"How so?"

"For starters, she doesn't have a solid alibi for that night." Lestrade was looking rather uncomfortable.

I shrugged. "Inconclusive. Anything that really ties her to it?"

"She admits that the night he was stabbed, they had a huge argument before he left for the bar," Maggie added. "And that she followed him there afterward, saw him getting friendly with a waitress. She says that she confronted him, and then she left. Bartender and other patrons there said he left right after she did. He was found outside about half an hour later. We think she waited for him in the alley next to the bar, and then stabbed him."

Lestrade spoke up again. "He recently bought life insurance that all goes towards her. She stands to get two million dollars. I think that motive's as just as good as any for her flipping out on him. In addition to the relationship difficulties."

I repressed a laugh. "Then why are you here if you've got it all figured out?"

Lestrade and Maggie exchanged another long look, before Maggie finally turned to me. "We're here as a favor to her."

I raised my eyebrows, but didn't say anything. She was most likely involved with law enforcement, as FBI agents didn't drive two hundred miles for just _anyone_. I began to consider all the possibilities of the women I knew in law enforcement.

"She asked for you." Maggie's voice was deliberate, laced with an underlying message.

That narrowed it down considerably. I could only think of one who would ask for me.

I jumped up from my arm chair, grabbing my coat off the end table, not even bothering to hide my anger. "Let's go. The two of you can explain to me on the way to Los Angeles why you didn't come get me sooner, the moment you found out that Brian was hurt," I fumed, turning on my heels and heading out my door, with the two agents scrambling to catch up.

* * *

Special thanks to ACD, for Holmes saying "My house is lonely. I, my old housekeeper, and my bees have the estate all to ourselves" in The Adventure of the Lion's Mane. 

AN: Thanks to everyone who's followed the story so far! I never really saw why the bees would be so interesting to Holmes, but something like producing wines (the quest for perfection and chemistry of winemaking) seemed much more fitting for a (semi) retirement pastime anyway. PLEASE, any comments, suggestions, questions about this new POV would be much appreciated! I also apologize for the shortness of the chapter as I'm in the midst of finals, and this is something I had to get out before I start writing the rest of it. Stupid plot bunny keeping me from studying...

HermioneHolmes: I agree. They are both idiots. But the good thing about idiots sometimes is that that they redeem themselves. _wink_

Moonrose1: Don't cry! Here, enjoy this.

Kittenchatter: I'm so glad you're not upset at me about the way the last story turned out. Hope you enjoy this one! And don't worry, you'll find out why he came back on Christmas.

Daze-dly: Was it that obvious what his true intentions were? I was shooting for the "totally ambiguous" ending. That's ok, I figure you guys might enjoy a sequel more.

L'Wren: I'm glad the ending wasn't too bad!

QueenofSpain: Yes, I've always wanted to write a story where he rejects the girl, because yes, he can be quite the jerk. And I'm apologizing for the shortness of the chapter, but this was the most I could churn out in this brief study break.

KentaDivina: I figure I should apologize to you about putting Brian through such a, hmm, physically challenging role, always being injured. I adore him too, but I couldn't see another way around it... he really is quite cool, isn't he?

Horsefeathers103: Hope this update was up to par!


	2. A New Face, and Some Old Ones

Chapter 2:

Lestrade turned around from where he was sitting in the passenger seat, handing me the case file wordlessly as soon as Maggie pulled the car onto the highway back towards Los Angeles, away from my little vineyard, speeding towards a city that I used to claim as my own.

I flipped through the file, fingers deftly picking out and discarding the bits and pieces that were of no use to me, before tossing them all nonchalantly to Lestrade, who groaned at the sight of the now disorderly pile on his lap. "I see you haven't changed one bit, Holmes. Messing up my files as you used to do."

"You know I prefer only the facts, Lestrade." Giving the man another glance, I decided it best to smooth things over a bit. I had no doubt agitated him further. "Of course, I will entertain your theory after I get caught up."

Lestrade shook his head. "Really, Holmes, there's no need to patronize me. My theory is the official theory we're running with. The Bureau takes any attempt on one of its own very seriously and therefore, has put me in charge of this investigation."

I nodded. "I see."

"Let's keep this straight, Holmes. It wasn't my idea to come to you in the first place. You're too close to the victim, and you used to work with the main suspect. If anything, consider your involvement a favor. From me."

I managed to suppress the laugh that was threatening to come out. "Of course."

"Oh honestly, Lestrade, don't be such an ass. The more help, the better," Maggie playfully hit Lestrade on the shoulder, trying to dissolve the tension in the car.

"Now, O'Donnell…" Lestrade diverted his attention away from me and the two agents in front began to bicker like partners normally do.

I buried myself in the case file, trying to tune out the two agents, but not before I caught Maggie's sly wink at me in the rearview mirror.

* * *

The case file was indeed incredibly thin once all of Lestrade's notes had been removed. At 10:30 two nights ago, Brian was discovered by a man taking a shortcut through the alley to the bar, laying face up in the middle of the alley, bleeding from multiple wounds. After the ambulance whisked Brian off, the detectives first on the scene were unable to determine much of anything. Their sketches of the crime scene lacked much of the detail I wanted, and were no substitute for seeing the real thing anyway. None of the bar patrons remembered hearing anything, and all denied seeing anything, other than Brian leaving the bar in a hurry following the confrontation between his fiancé and himself.

However, I still managed to find something in the sparse case file. Preliminary crime lab reports also noted no defensive wounds and no scratches, and nothing underneath Brian's fingernails; there was no trace of DNA or blood other than that of Brian's. This was particularly significant.

I paused, considering the current situation at hand. "Have you arrested her yet?" my voice interrupted the heavy silence in the car.

Lestrade snorted. "Not yet. The DA wants to wait for some physical evidence. Everything's taking so long because we've had to put everything through the federal lab, seeing how she's the head medical examiner and all. Wouldn't want to lose evidence or anything."

"Of course not," I remarked dryly. "Although I fail to see how the LA coroner's office has any say over the LAPD crime lab. They're in two different parts of town."

Maggie stifled a laugh, and Lestrade turned to face me. "We just don't need another OJ, Jake. The media's been itching to get at this one, and any sign of anything improper would be a complete embarrassment for the Bureau."

I merely raised my eyebrows in response, before handing Lestrade the file back. "Here, I'm finished."

"So what do you think?"

This is why I never really liked working with partners, especially one as irritatingly questioning as Lestrade. I have made it a point never to guess at half-formed theories, nor have I ever bothered to formulate a theory without the proper facts. "I need more information."

Lestrade heaved a sigh. "There isn't any. Our best bet points at a lover's quarrel."

I shrugged, not wanting to discuss the case further, and certainly not Brian and Laura's _love_ life. "I'd like to visit the crime scene first."

"Trust me, Holmes. At the end of the day, you'll wish that you didn't bother coming down here. There's definitely something suspicious about the way Dr. Watson is behaving, and I'm willing to bet anything that it's her."

"At best, the current evidence is circumstantial, Lestrade," I pointed out with an irritation I didn't bother hiding. "Now, please, let's refrain from discussing the case before I've seen the crime scene."

Lestrade, properly chafed, turned to his partner. "Hey, O'Donnell, take the next rest stop, will you? I have this craving for some Mickey D's."

"Sure thing," Maggie complied as she took the next exit.

* * *

Maggie and I waited by the car in the parking lot of McDonald's for Lestrade to fulfill his sudden French fry craving. I took the opportunity to stretch my legs; being cooped up in the backseat of a government issue Ford sedan with absolutely no leg room for two hours had been a rather trying experience.

"Aren't you going to ask?"

"I wasn't aware that there was some particular unanswered question," I said slowly as I scrutinized the agent standing next to me.

She scoffed. "Oh come off it Holmes. Aren't you going to ask why we really suspect her in the first place?"

I shook my head. "I never speculate on the reasons for a crime, not until I've at least seen the crime scene, or talked to the participants. This is why I succeed where the police fail. They formulate the why before they figure out the who, what, when and where. So no, I don't particularly care to know why she is a suspect, as I'd like to start the beginning of it all, and work towards my own conclusions."

"I see. And this policy of yours has nothing to do with the fact that you and Watson have history? If anything, you should be harsher on her for putting your _best_ friend in a coma. Unless there's another reason you decided to come down." Her eyes narrowed slightly.

Unflinching, I met her steady gaze. "Rest assured, Maggie, that I'm here solely for the truth, same as you." At that moment, it seemed futile to correct Maggie's erroneous assumption about the existence of any _history _between Watson and myself.

She finally nodded, before looking away. "All right then."

Lestrade had picked up his order, and was now heading towards us.

Maggie smiled wanly at me, as if I had passed her test. "You know, I don't envy your position one bit."

"Neither do I, Maggie."

* * *

We arrived at the crime scene about an hour later, around mid-afternoon. I was anxious to begin my investigation, and Maggie, showing a surprising thoughtfulness, had taken the step to call ahead to the LAPD, sweet-talking one of the first detectives on scene to meet us there and walk as through the events of two nights ago.

I had Maggie park the car about a block away from the bar, so that I could approach the scene, still walled off with the distinctive yellow caution tape, slowly, taking in everything. I was not particularly expectant of being able to find anything, as so much time had passed between the time the crime occurred and now. Furthermore, anything significant would have most likely (and here I crossed my fingers), been bagged and put into evidence by the crime scene unit, which I would most evidently have to pay a visit to later.

The bar, Bagatelle's, was not unknown to me. The place was situated near the corner of 7th and San Pedro, a one story hole-in-the-wall owned by two retired LAPD sergeants from the nearby Central Bureau. On one side of it was a small alleyway doubling as a parking lot, on the other side, an empty, fenced off lot. Directly across the street from the bar was an abandoned building, amongst some warehouses. Overall, the area was not somewhere you'd want to be at night, as there was only a single streetlight about 20 feet from the bar at the corner, except for the fact that the bar itself was a frequent cop/FBI agent hangout.

Lestrade and Maggie had gone on ahead, no doubt to greet the LAPD detective who was standing patiently by the edge of the crime scene. His face was a familiar one- youthful and alert. I felt a little bit more reassured at the sight of him, a detective in Lestrade's old team who, at the time, showed a bit more promise than the rest of the lot.

Maggie ushered me over to them when she saw my approach, breaking my concentration, albeit briefly. "Holmes, this is Detective –"

"Hopkins. Good to see you," I cut in smoothly.

The detective's face was eager. "Holmes, I should have known that you'd be here, even if Lestrade kept going on about you being retired and all."

Lestrade huffed. "Yes, yes, now Hopkins, let's get a move on it, I've got tons of paperwork to do back at the office. Don't have the time to stand around getting reacquainted."

"Can you tell me how he was found?" I asked.

Hopkins, who had clamped up earlier at Lestrade's comment, began to describe the crime scene to me. Brian had been found in the alleyway next to a white car by the driver side door with his keys right next to him. He was flat on his back, with multiple stab wounds.

"Who found him?"

The detective reached into his pocket and pulled out another sheet of paper with a name, phone number, and address on it. "A Ronald Adair. He was leaving the bar when he saw Brian and the blood."

"What blood?" I inquired sharply.

Hopkins gestured to the car that was currently parked in next to the bar in the alleyway. "Adair said he noticed the blood splatters on the car before he saw Brian. It was dark, and Adair said you couldn't see him because of the shadow, really."

I nodded, assaying just how far away the streetlight was and the long shadow it might have cast.

"Crime scene's got the car now, they're running some blood splatter tests. Of course, you're the expert on that whole thing.

"Tell me about this Adair guy." I would have never posed something this subjective to another LAPD detective save Hopkins, who, by my previous interactions, seemed much sharper than anyone I had ever met on an official police force.

He thought for a moment before answering. "He seemed shook up, Holmes. I thought originally it was due to the normal shock of coming across something like this, but then something didn't seem right about the whole thing."

"What do you mean?" I was immediately on full alert.

Hopkins shook his head. "Between you and me, there's just something that doesn't quite fit. I mean, the dispatcher received the 911 call from Adair's cell phone. He's practically hysterical, you know. Said there was a man lying in the alley. So the dispatcher asks him to check to see if the guy's still alive, and Adair says no way, he's not going near there."

I raised my eyebrows.

"And so I question him later, he said he came out, saw Brian, and then immediately went back into the bar and called 911 on his cell phone. The funny thing is, there's no background noise on the recording of the call when I listened to it."

My ears perked up, as I realized my assessment of Hopkins was not wrong. He did indeed have the mind for detail. "He didn't make the call in the bar."

"I didn't think so either, Holmes. I'm glad you agree with me."

"Have you talked to him since?"

Hopkins shook his head. "No, I'm still waiting on the splatter results from the crime lab. Of course, it could be nothing, and I might be overreacting."

"Perhaps, but I have always found it in my best interest to collect all the facts before trying to determine which of those are significant." I bent down, and methodically began to examine the ground; most likely, this was a futile gesture, as any evidence would have most likely been either destroyed (or perhaps even, God willing, bagged and taken back to the lab). Yet when I knelt near where Brian was supposedly discovered, something caught my eye.

The abandoned building across the street was a two-story affair, in rather disarray, with the front doors boarded. Much of the front was covered in various graffiti symbols, and the entire place looked as if it were about to fall. The only thing out of the ordinary was the second-story window, which offered a great view of the street. The window, unlike the rest of the house, had been scrubbed meticulously clean, and unlike the rest of the building, was free of any dust, grime, or spray paint artwork of the local gangs.

A cell phone- I presumed it was Hopkins'- rang, interrupting my train of thought.

After a brief conversation, the young detective turned to me. "Well, Holmes, it seems that my partner needs me back at the precinct for an interrogation on another of our active cases. Is there anything else you might need?"

I stood up, took another glance around, and shook my head. "Not at the moment, Hopkins. If you would be so kind as to join me when I visit Mr. Adair…"

He nodded. "Of course. You can reach me at the precinct or on my cell phone anytime tomorrow."

"Thank you, Hopkins."

The youthful detective took his leave with a quick wave to Lestrade and Maggie, who had been waiting without complaint near the entrance to the bar.

Maggie and Lestrade came back. "Where to now? Crime lab?" She asked.

"I need to see Brian," I said deliberately, trying to keep my tone neutral as the nature of the crime finally dawned on me. Brian- the only living reminder of Jason I had left- was badly hurt.

* * *

Lestrade and Maggie had dropped me off at the hospital Brian was staying at, one of the country's largest trauma centers. Maggie had mentioned that I was to give her a call if I needed anything, but I brushed it aside, and strode through the front doors without a second thought. It wasn't until I had gone through doors that led to the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) that I really stopped and considered my next action.

"I'm here to see Brian Morstan," I said softly to the first nurse I saw.

The nurse, a grandmotherly sort in pink scrubs and an ID badge that read "Betty," gestured down the eerily quiet hallway, save for the steady beeping of numerous machines. "He's the last room down," she whispered after examining my visitor's sticker.

I nodded my thanks, but before I could head towards the room, she grabbed my arm and pressed something into hand. "Here, take this to Dr. Watson. She's hardly left his side since he's been brought in. Poor thing, doesn't even eat."

I glanced down at the sealed cup of warm hospital grade Jell-O, and made a face the moment the nurse turned her back. Imagine, giving someone who apparently hadn't eaten anything in days as awful as red-flavored Jell-O, hospital style. I found myself unable to put it aside, however, as I walked down the hallway, as I mentally steeled myself against what I was going to see.

There were six rooms on this side of the hall, all separated from the next with solid white walls. The front wall of each room, however, contained a big window, no doubt for the nurses to be able to monitor the conditions of each patient without having to leave their central desk. This after all, was the ICU, where each patient was so sick they required their own nurse.

I swallowed the growing lump in my throat and continued on, passing by bed after bed of patients drowning in a sea of medical tubing. I've never been one for hospitals, I'll admit. One of the things that has always bothered me about hospitals in particular is the distinct smell of illness- a rather ambiguous area between life and death. Hospitals offer no promises either way, merely an occasional faint glimmer of hope to those who are not so far gone they never come back.

I paused before entering the last room, taking in the sight before me. Brian lay motionless on the bed, hooked up to a machine that monitored his breathing, blood pressure, heart rate, and temperature, while his whole upper body was otherwise wrapped in a thick layer of bandages. He also had a couple of different IVs draining into his left arm, and was receiving oxygen through yet another tube.

Next to him, in a distinctly uncomfortable chair, sat his fiancé- and my former partner-in-crime- Dr. Laura Watson. She had managed to curl up in the chair somehow, her eyes focused on the comatose man before her. Her cheeks were sunken, and her face was extremely pale. There appeared, from my point of view, to be heavy bags under both her eyes, which would indicate an extreme lack of sleep.

I found myself unable to move, unable to brazenly enter and interrupt what was unfolding to be a rather private moment, as I watched her get up from her chair and plant a soft kiss on Brian's forehead, one of the few places not covered up in medical tubing or bandages.

It wasn't until she had sat back down in the chair and saw me that I proceeded to enter the room, stopping once I reached the foot of the bed. She had not budged from the chair, but acknowledged my presence, trying to find it in herself to smile. "Holmes."

I nodded, still staring at Brian, lying in the midst of numerous tubes and gadgets. His unnatural stillness reminded me of the last time I had the opportunity to visit the ICU, 11 years ago, when I watched my own brother fade away after surgery to remove multiple bullets from his head was unsuccessful. I pushed those memories aside, refusing to revisit what was the most painful part of my life.

"I didn't think you'd come." Her voice was low, laced with an undercurrent of deep emotion.

I turned to face her, fully observing her for the first time. I had not imagined the deep bags underneath her eyes, which only had a hint of puffiness. She had not been crying for awhile. I was relieved by that deduction, as I didn't think I could have handled it well if she were. "I'm not here simply at your request, Dr. Watson." My remark was sharp, sharper than I had originally intended.

She flinched, albeit slightly, but her eyes didn't waver from my gaze. "Of course not," she stammered, before continuing in a steadier voice. "Brian would have wanted you on this."

"I would hope so."

She sighed as she got up from the chair. "I suppose we need to talk."

Her face was drawn, and she seemed smaller than she ever was. Watson had always been on the petite side, but I had never seen her looking so fragile before. "Only if we can eat while we do it," I mentioned lightly.

"Been talking to nurse Betty, I see." She eyed me warily.

"No, I deduced it from how terrible you look," I deadpanned.

She stared at me for a moment, during which I briefly considered modifying my statement, until she broke out into a grin, albeit a fleeting one. "Feeding me Jell-O is not going to help my complexion any, Holmes. You do know that, at least, don't you?"

I glanced down at the warm plastic cup I was still holding, before I tossed it in the trash. "Cafeteria, then?"

She nodded, grabbing her purse, and gave Brian's hand (the one that was IV free) a gentle squeeze, before following me out the door.

* * *

"Where do you want me to start?" she asked tentatively, putting down her fork.

We had barely said a word to each other since coming down to the basement cafeteria. I watched her eat, slowly, noticing her inherent unease as she began to pick at her food.

I took another sip of my coffee, now barely lukewarm. "I find that the beginning is usually a good place to start."

She glared at me briefly, before her features softened. "The fight then?"

I shrugged.

She bit down on her lip, another nervous habit of hers, but then proceeded to tell me the story. "I came home that night around 9 or so. A case came in late, and so I lost track of time again."

"You forgot to call him and tell him." Watson's absentmindedness had obviously not changed.

She nodded. "Yes, and this wasn't the first time. I know worry him when I don't call, but that night I was just frustrated, so instead of apologizing, I told him I didn't need him babying me so."

I winced inwardly. That was definitely the button to push. If I knew anything about Brian, it was just how protective he got. Over everyone and everything. One should never accuse him of caring too much.

"And then he got really angry. Told me that I was being completely unappreciative and that I took him for granted all the time."

"And?" I prodded, objectively as I could, trying to prevent any further emotional outbursts that Watson was prone to.

Watson looked away, pausing briefly to chew on her bottom lip. "We fought a bit more, and he stormed out, drove off in a huff," she continued vaguely, with a light wave of her hand. "And I started to worry, realized I was an idiot, and figured I'd go and apologize, ask him to come back home."

I nodded, noting to come back and fill in the details after she finished telling the whole story; interrupting Watson in the middle of a tirade was equivalent of begging for trouble.

"I figured he went to Bagatelle's, because that's where he always goes to wind down, and when I got there, he was too busy flirting with the waitress…" her voice trailed off briefly, before she pressed on, albeit shakily. "So I kinda lost it in the bar. I told him that I wasn't about to marry someone who didn't care enough about the relationship to try and make it work, even through the tough times, someone who'd rather just take the escapist route."

"He must have disagreed." Brian was a man of action, foolhardy to an extent where he would rush into any situation. This was what got him shot in the first place, taking the bullet meant for Watson.

She grimaced. "Very much so. He accused me of being worse, and I got so mad that the last thing I said to him before I left was that I was heading home, and he shouldn't be surprised if he didn't see me there in the morning, or ever again."

I raised my eyebrows. "Quite the fight."

She nodded, her eyes glistening with tears. "That's the last thing I said to him, Holmes. It's the last thing he'll have remembered me saying to him- if- when he wakes up. If I had only stopped when he came after me…" her voice cracked, and I watched silently as Watson stifled a sob.

Such an open display of emotion made me rather uncomfortable, so I tried to alleviate the situation by offering her a tissue from my pocket, which she accepted readily.

"Aren't you going to ask me where I went after?" Watson asked me tentatively, meeting my eyes for the first time after she began to recall the fight. It was as if she were expecting the question.

"Does it matter?"

"It did to Lestrade. I went back to the house right after I left the bar. I began to pack my stuff. I was so emotional; I wanted to leave as soon as I could."

This must have been the suspicious behavior Lestrade had previously alluded to. Packing after a confrontation was highly suggestive of flight, flight from some unspeakable behavior.

"And they called me about an hour after that. Told me Brian was in the hospital, in surgery, fighting for his life."

"How is he?" I shifted the conversation, having gleaned as much as I could from it for the time being.

She shrugged. "Stable, but if he doesn't wake up soon, they say that he might end up in a permanent vegetative state."

I swallowed, trying to keep my voice neutral. "I'll need to speak with his doctor. About the nature of the injuries."

"Of course. I'll let him know to waive HIPAA for you. Anything else?"

I paused, assessing the current situation. Watson looked like hell warmed over. I had seen her after marathon shifts as a ME, and that had been nowhere near as tired as she looked now. It wouldn't be prudent for her to wear herself out before Brian woke up. "I can stay with Brian tonight, Watson. You look like you need a good night's sleep. In a proper bed."

A soft smile graced her tired, drawn-out face. "I appreciate the offer, Holmes, but I can't leave him. Not now."

"Watson, go home. I promise I'll call you if he wakes up."

She shook her head resolutely, but refused to look at me. "No, I can't." She reached into her pocket and pulled out her keys, sliding them across the table to me. "Here. I know you probably haven't arranged a place to stay tonight, but you are more than welcome to our home."

It wasn't because it was _their_ home. "I couldn't possibly-"

"Holmes, I know you can't stand hospitals as it is. And I want to be here when he wakes up. Just go. You can bring me back a change of clothes tomorrow."

I was about to protest further but the hard look on Watson's face stopped me. Her features were set, her jaw clenched, her attitude firm, very similar to the two previous instances where she had forced my hand, once in San Francisco, and more recently, her insistence on accompanying me to New Orleans. "Very well."

"Besides, you can let Lestrade in at 4 in the morning when he executes the search warrant," she remarked half-jokingly.

"Honestly, Watson, it's premature to assume that-"

She still had the horrible habit of interrupting me. "Premature for you, perhaps, but I know Lestrade's already gunning for me. I could tell by the way he questioned me the other day. I'm surprised that they haven't sent guards to make sure I don't inject him with potassium chloride in his sleep." She stood up and grabbed her food tray, dumping the unfinished portion in the trash bin right next to our table, before placing the plastic tray on top. "Anyway, it's time I got back."

She then approached me, hesitating before she put a hand on my shoulder. "Thank you," she said, before withdrawing quickly.

"What for?"

"For coming." With that, she turned and walked briskly out of the cafeteria, leaving me to pick through the entire conversation we had just shared.

* * *

AN: Oh my gosh! I almost cried from sheer happiness after reading all the feedback. So many reviews! Really, you guys are way too awesome. Thank you so much, and I'm glad that you guys like this POV so far. I think I might switch to Watson's POV next chapter, but I'm not sure, since I haven't written it yet :-P. I think one of the hardest things for me when writing from Holmes' POV is saving some of the details key to the mystery for later chapters. For example, even though I've read over this chapter a million times, I can't help but feel I'm giving away the entire storyline! Anyway, ALL comments, suggestions, etc are welcome! (Oh, and HIPAA is the law that protects the privacy of your medical info, and unless it's waived, people can't reveal any information about your medical care, etc.)

Kittenchatter: Thanks for the love! Perhaps wine seems more fitting for Jake, as opposed to Sherlock. Well, I'll be addressing the whole Christmas thing later on in this story. Poor Brian- he doesn't deserve all that comes to him. I guess I thought that Jake wouldn't be dumping everything if it was anything less drastic. I'm sad too, that this will be the last of Jake and Laura, but I'm also toying with the idea of another Holmes and Watson storyline after all this is over… who knows? Oh, and I love waterfalls (that was just a bit of self-indulgence on my part). Glad you enjoyed it, and thanks for the review!

Sherlock Holmes Skittle: Hmmm, a very good point about the bees. :-D Thanks so much for bringing that up to my attention. Wine, I suppose, requires a bit more mystery and subtlety and even _magic _so yes, perhaps Jake has found a bit of love in his life… Thanks so much for your review!

Masked Phantom: Well, not murder persay. And right now, I don't know how much of it is rescuing Laura vs. finding out who wanted to hurt Brian. Sorry about the cliffhanger, and I hope this update is up to par!

Jepa: Thanks! Hope you find this POV nice, and yeah, everything's not supposed to go smoothly for H and W, not even now :-D

Snowwolf1985: Goodness! You're back! It's been awhile, but I haven't forgotten about you, my faithful reviewer! Don't worry, Laura's a tough cookie, she can handle it.

Pinkpanther: I'm glad you enjoyed the beginning! Yes, poor Laura doesn't have good relationships, but she also doesn't get into relationships for the right reasons… but don't worry, she can handle it.

L'Wren: I'm happy you're back! Thanks for the review and support!

Hermione Holmes: You've hit my biggest writing secret- twists and cliffhangers! I can't help myself, but since I'm not very confident in my writing style, I needed to figure out a way to keep you readers coming back! I mean, it's totally evil of me, but I can't help myself. I wasn't originally going to include their first meeting in this chapter, but I thought I'd throw it in there, since you did ask so nicely. Of course, while I love writing angst, Jake's not the type to acknowledge angst, so please forgive me if I botched up the scene. And you have no idea how relieved I am that you like this POV; it's hard to write, but I'm glad you enjoy it, and that I'm not totally ruining it for you. Of course, this chapter was a lot harder because there were so many things that would have been easier from Watson's POV, so any suggestions/comments you have regarding Holmes' POV would be fantastic.

Queen of Spain: Glad you liked the POV and the beginning! Thanks for the love!

Kenta Divina: Sorry to hear about reading dull papers. I tried to lengthen this chapter as much as I could. And yes, I had to hurt Brian again, as I couldn't figure out a serious enough way to get Holmes to come back from self-imposed isolation, especially not after Christmas. Thanks so much for your review!


	3. Inner Thoughts

Chapter 3

Watson's POV:

I gripped the Styrofoam cup filled with generic coffee tightly in my hand as I made my way back to the ICU, to Brian, who was still listed as critical. I had already spent 4 nights in the hospital, and there was still no change in Brian's condition. It was a limbo that I was rather uncomfortable with, even though I was grateful that he at least hadn't taken a turn for the worse.

I managed a wary smile at the nurses who greeted me as I passed; I had been here long enough that they had already rotated through multiple shifts and thus knew my name, knew my habits, and were kind enough to drag in a more comfortable lounge chair for me to sleep on during these last few nights.

But they didn't really know me. They didn't know my strengths, my weaknesses; they didn't really understand why I couldn't leave the hospital, why I couldn't leave Brian's bedside save for the occasional coffee break and half-hearted attempts to finish a pastry.

I heard them gossiping once about Brian and me on one of my morning coffee runs, pausing when I heard my name at the station after I had passed it:

"_I really wish Dr. Watson would look after herself. She shouldn't run herself to the ground."_

"_Doesn't she have anyone to help out?"_

"_Really, Anna, I think it's sweet how she won't leave him. You can see the love and devotion-"_

"_Hmph, Maria, you always the romantic."_

"_You don't see it? She must love him so much."_

"_Yeah, yeah, I see it. If it were me and someone hurt my man like that-"_

I continued on shakily after, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. I remember I had a hard time carrying my cup that morning, as I found myself shaking all over. It wasn't that I didn't love Brian- I did love him very much- it was that I couldn't override that feeling of overwhelming guilt; after all, this was all my fault. And I felt even worse, when I realized that it wasn't just _love_ that was keeping me rooted to his side, that it was guilt as well.

I closed my eyes, leaning back against the firm plastic chair back, trying not to think of everything that had happened following Brian's admission. It all seemed like such a blur, with the doctor's visits to Brian's bedside the only way I really had of keeping track of the days.

_And then Lestrade and his cronies came by, right on the heels of Brian's trauma surgeon immediately post-op, demanding rudely to question me, poking around what had gone on that night, insisting on knowing every single detail of our fight. I wanted to yell, to scream, that I hadn't even seen Brian yet, to say how you could you possibly think that- even when I knew at the bottom of my heart that they would come to me first, as I was the significant other, and the statistics always indicated (less for males but even so) that I was the most likely culprit. And when Lestrade had asked for the third time about why I was packing my bags, I finally blew up, telling him to go shove his questions up his ass, and that I wasn't going to be talking to him anymore. That he was being completely inconsiderate and that I wanted to go be with Brian. _

_And before I got a chance to stomp out and slam the door to the small, closet-sized conference room (on loan by the hospital to Lestrade briefly), that female agent, the one that I remembered from New Orleans, the tall beautiful redhead, one of Brian's partners, had followed me out and stopped me, asking if there was anything I needed, or if there was anyone she could call for me. _

"_Call Holmes, will you?" I pleaded, not knowing what else to say, my fury melting after I saw the genuine concern in her eyes. "Please. I can't reach Brian's parents, they're somewhere hiking in the Andes, and I don't know who else to call."_

_She nodded and hugged me. "Ok. But for you?"_

_And I shook my head slowly. "I don't have anyone. But I'll manage, don't worry."_

_She looked sympathetic, before a light smile crossed her face. "Oh, wait, but you and Jake are friends too. Two birds with one stone."_

"_It's not that simple between us," I paused, refusing dwell on the past. "But he needs to know about Brian. Whatever you have to tell him, just have him come down."_

_Maggie didn't miss my initial hesitation. "Want me to tell him about the case?" she inquired, her eyes intent on my response._

"_Tell him about Brian. I don't care what you have to say," I swallowed uneasily, unsure as to what to expect from the now retired consulting detective with the sharp eyes and hawk-like nose. _

And he had come down after all. He looked slightly agitated, surprising as he usually was the picture perfect poker face, but I figured that this was most likely due to his innate dislike of hospitals- and perhaps the knowledge of his best friend in such a critical condition. I was taken aback at his appearance, for he had kept his hair color black, (the color he had originally dyed it for the previous undercover stint in New Orleans). Gone were the gray colored contacts, however, and his eyes were back to the original sharp piercing blue. He had lost some of the paleness, but that was probably due to working outside in his vineyard. While he looked different than what I expected, I realized very soon that his ego, his sharp attitude were all very much the same.

"_I'm not here simply at your request, Dr. Watson." _He had pointed that out straight off. And then I had to tell him the story, recount the fight, the very fight that had been the precursor to Brian's injuries. The one that really, was my own fault, my carelessness, my inconsiderate nature, and my selfishness that precipitated this horrible sequence of events.

And I was grateful, immensely grateful to Holmes, for not pointing it out, not rubbing it in my face like Lestrade did. While I wasn't sure that Holmes would believe me- and my account of what had happened that night- I was infinitely relieved that he would be assisting on the case, as I knew that he would take everything into account first. The conversation I had with Lestrade was very frightening, as the moment I had mentioned Brian and I having a fight, I could sense an immediate shift in questioning. Holmes' methodical approach of gathering evidence would hold Lestrade off for awhile, and help find the bastard who actually did stab Brian.

Holmes' presence was a relief, one that I welcomed immensely, as I settled back into the chair, resuming my vigil over Brian.

* * *

Holmes' POV: 

After leaving the cafeteria, I placed a quick call to Maggie, who told me that she had just been on the phone with the crime lab technicians, who duly informed her that any results would be available tomorrow at the earliest. I then placed another call, this time to Detective Hopkins, asking him to arrange a meeting with Mr. Adair.

I then left the hospital on foot, as Brian's home was just a brisk 20 minute walk away. There was nothing more to be done on the case for tonight in terms of information gathering, but I had more than enough to ponder from the day's events.

Watson was holding up pretty well, given everything that had happened. I always knew she was tougher than she looked, but I also understood that this would work against her, especially when it came to Lestrade (who would read her stoicism as evidence of a guilty conscience). While I might not have ruled her out as a suspect scientifically (I need more information from the crime lab first,), there definitely some things with this particular case to suggest a sense of the bizarre. Hopkins had been particularly useful in noting the inconsistencies with Adair's story, and I was almost positive that there was more, that the real story with Adair would remain key to solving the mystery.

I did not want to acknowledge what was ultimately baffling me- my own numbness at seeing Brian laying there. I knew that I wasn't usually an emotional person of such (as I left such sentiments to my friends- Brian, and even Watson, to an extent); it had been proven time and time again how emotional investments would ultimately interfere with the progress of solving a case. And while I was somewhat relieved that the seriousness of Brian's condition currently hadn't affected my judgment as such, I was wary that any change in his condition might eventually do so- and thus render me useless.

When I arrived at the familiar yellow house with the white trim, complete with blooming tulips that lined the side of the small front porch that led to the door, any sort of resolve I had about keeping Brian's situation to _just another case_ without any emotional ties came tumbling down. I had known Brian for many years, and despite my reservations about making cases personal- this one would be just that. It wasn't just that Brian had been my brother Jason's former partner. Brian was my friend too, standing by me when I fell to new lows in the days following my brother's death, and he was one of the two people that I felt I could be myself around, one of only two who understood, and quite possible, the only one who never pushed me and just accepted me, as friends are meant to be.

And he was the only one that I would give up anything for.

* * *

_Two weeks before Christmas Eve, 4 months ago_

"That was a fantastic dinner, Jake. My compliments to the chef." Brian patted his belly to emphasize his point. "I'll be feeling this tomorrow," he said dramatically.

"And this, absolutely wonderful." He took another gulp of his wine, a chardonnay, one of the first bottles from my vineyard that we had opened for dinner. "I can see you turning a profit soon."

"Let me know if you ever want a case shipped to you." I smiled, genuinely warmed by the compliment. "You can ask me for anything, Brian, and I'd oblige you."

Brian paused momentarily, as if he finally remembered something important. "I know," he said, his voice dropping from its usual boisterous volume.

"Why are you really here?" I made sure my question was tempered, without an accusatory tone of any sort.

Brian finished the rest of his wine, unwilling to look at me. He was deep in thought.

The silence continued for at least another minute before Brian finally reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black velvet box, most obviously containing a diamond ring. He then poured himself yet another glass of the wine, emptying the bottle.

It could have meant one of two things. Either she had refused him, or he decided not to ask. Given the slouched shoulders, the despondent attitude, and way Brian just decided to "stop by" the vineyard without calling beforehand, I opted to suggest the former. "Did she say no?" I inquired.

He shook his head slowly. When he spoke, his voice was hollow- almost ethereal. "I haven't asked yet."

So it was the latter. I tried to be reassuring, even thought I felt slightly disappointed in my friend, to succumb to such a societal pressure. "It's perfectly understandable to feel nervous before making any lifetime commitment."

Brian scoffed. "You're assuming she says yes."

"Of course. You have been romantically involved for almost ten months now, and from what I understand, the next step would be linking yourselves together in marriage. A mere progression of a mutual emotional investment. Why wouldn't she say yes?"

Brian finally lifted his eyes to meet mine, his eyes clouding over with a deep melancholy. He didn't have to say anything, but in that moment, I knew exactly why he was there.

I would have laughed if it were anyone else. I respected Brian immensely, however, and couldn't bring myself to tell him how ridiculously absurd it was, the thought that Watson still had feelings for me. "It was just a mere infatuation on her part, Brian, I assure you."

It was the first time I ever lied to Brian.

"And on your part?" he ventured, afraid.

I phrased my answer carefully, knowing that Brian was observing my every action, as I set down my own wine glass. "I don't consider myself appropriate relationship material, so I refused to get involved in the first place."

I watched as Brian let out a visible sigh of relief. He was not the type to ask further about what had happened between Watson and myself, and at the moment, I myself was relieved. After all, I didn't really answer his question.

But he didn't seem to notice, choosing to change the subject and drain his glass. "It really is a good chardonnay, Jake. You should submit it to Wine Spectator. They're reviewing Napa's chardonnays again in two months."

I murmured my agreement, and the previous conversation was forgotten.

* * *

AN: Have I told you guys lately that I love you? I do, I really do. It warms my heart to see all your encouragement! I apologize for the horrible writer's block I was suffering- but it couldn't be helped; I think I'm a one POV a story type of person, as it was incredibly difficult to go back to Watson's POV, I had a difficult time on writing this chapter, so I hoped I managed to do it. The other thing making it difficult was the flashback incidents, and hoping they're not too OOC… anyway, ALL feedback appreciated! And I'm sorry it's not as long as Chapter 2, but I'm trying! 

Moonrose1: Haha, Watson as a little marshmallow! That's such a great metaphor. She is this totally mushy softy thing with the strength to bounce back (as much as possible, anyway). Glad you're enjoying this! My last SH story? What I meant to say was that this'll be the last Laura/Jake SH story. I'm pretty sure that it won't be my last SH story wink stay tuned, I'm saying!

Estriel: Thanks! I'm glad you love these guys. And trying to not to keep you guys too much in suspense, although I'm trying not to rush through the story. Glad you're here for the ride!

Moonjava: YAY! Thanks for all your reviews of all my stories. I'm glad you like them, and yes, I appreciate you noticing my effort of making my chapters longer. (The problem, is that I don't update as frequently because it seems that there's a maximum rate at which I can churn something out).

Kittenchatter:-D It's good to know that I'll have at least 1 reader for my next story (I will have to say that it won't be Laura and Jake though, as that'll end with this one, and will be a complete experiment on my part). I'm SO happy to hear that I'm not billboarding the future plotline of this story; it's just hard to figure out what I know vs. what you know. Since you guys are so smart anyway, I have to try and temper things. Brian- yes, I feel sorry for him too, but it's not so much him getting in the way of their relationship, as much as this whole thing needs a proper ending, a la ACD's stuff. Thanks again, I love your reviews (such fuel for my writing!)

L'Wren: Oh, I was so happy to read your review. Yeah, HIPAA, man, crazy thing that it is. But I figure I've written hospital scenes so much in this crazy storyline that I needed to throw it in there, or else I would have wasted the certification course that I had to take on it, haha.

HermioneHolmes: Ooh! I'm so excited to hear that you like this POV. It takes me a bit longer to write in this POV; Watson's much emotionally roller coaster and thus easier for me, so I'm really glad to hear that you like it- especially the hospital scene. And yes, the relevance of the window will be revealed soon. As always, enjoy your reviews very much! Thanks!

snowwolf1985: Happy to have you back! Lestrade isn't evil, just bureaucratic. And I like the Jell-O too (personally find hospital jello really gross and yucky).

Kenta Divina: I know, it's sad that they always end up in the hospital. (Thinking back to the very first story…) Perhaps because I'm more familiar with the hospital setting? Anyway, glad you like Hopkins- he's completely based on Stanley Hopkins, the Scotland Yard detective featured in a few Holmes stories, and always gets rave reviews from Holmes. Thanks for the review!

Masked Phantom: Don't worry, I form conclusions all the time without facts! (Possibly why I find Holmes' POV so hard to write). And also, it's Holmes! Of course he'll find the bad guy :-P


	4. The Letter

Chapter 4

I spent the night at their house on the couch, going over every meticulous detail I had managed to observe over the day. The facts seemed to suggest a more complex case, but my instincts were leading me towards a much simpler cause-and-effect series of events; however, I still didn't have enough information and I was mentally charting out my next move- getting some more background on Adair. Once that was complete, I settled in for a restless sleep.

The shrill ringing of my cell phone awoke me around six in the morning. "Holmes."

"Jake, he's deteriorating." Watson was choked up, unable to suppress her sobs. "I-"

I jumped up, grabbing my shoes nearby, slipping them on my feet with ease. "Hang on, Laura, I'm coming."

* * *

When I arrived at the hospital, through the window to Brian's room, I could see the code team, hovered around Brian's bed, working almost seamlessly in an effort trying to revive him. What captured my attention, however, was the heated argument occurring right outside the room between Watson and an elderly couple. 

I quickened my steps. "Is there a problem?"

Watson seemed relieved at my appearance, but before she could say anything, the elderly woman spoke up. "Jacob Holmes, it's about time you showed up."

Mrs. Morstan had not changed a bit, her voice still as shrill, her presence still commanding. Her hair, a radiant silver, only added to her seeming authority. "I'm so glad to see you Jacob, although I wish it was under better circumstances."

I nodded stiffly. "I could say the same, Mrs. Morstan. And to you, Mr. Morstan."

The old man nodded back a greeting, but immediately turned his attention back towards the room, where the second time with the paddles had restarted Brian's heart again. Mrs. Morstan, however, merely glanced briefly inside at Brian, before turning back to me, still infuriated. "Jacob, I was wondering if you could tell me, how could anyone deny someone they claim to love the right to live?"

After assuring myself that Brian was all right for the time being, I turned my full attention to the two women before me. Mrs. Morstan, seething with anger, and Watson, a whole mess of emotions, seemed to be locked in a battle of wills.

"Mrs. Morstan, I am not trying to deny Brian the right to live. He had previously specified that he didn't want to be put on a respirator," Watson spoke up, her soft voice strained with politeness. "You're violating his wish by telling the doctors to resuscitate. I'm the one listed under his health care directive to make decisions on his behalf."

"We only have your word for that, don't we?" Mrs. Morstan spat out, her voice rising to a volume so high the entire ICU had turned to look at us. "And the police told us about you. They think you're the one who put him here!"

Watson visibly took a step back, as if someone struck her physically.

Mrs. Morstan pressed her advantage. "That's right! We heard from Agent Lestrade about you! You're nothing but a harlot-"

I placed a strong hand on her arm. "Mrs. Morstan," I scolded in my firmest voice. "Please refrain from calling Brian's fiancée any names. We are in a hospital."

Mrs. Morstan, surprised that anyone would interrupt her tirade, glared at me, but managed to compose herself briefly.

"Please, we're all here to do what's best for Brian. You two will need to learn to get along for the time being."

I turned to look for Watson, but she was no longer anywhere to be seen.

"See? I never understood what Brian saw in that useless woman. When the going gets tough, she takes off," Mrs. Morstan scoffed. "Can't even stick around for her fiancée."

I opened my mouth to protest, wanting to duly inform the old lady that she was quite mistaken, mistaken about so many things, mistaken about just how great a person Watson was, how one of her best qualities was that she would stick beside you, through thick, through thin, through the most difficult of times.

But before I could get the hoarde of words out, Mr. Morstan spoke up for the first time. "Gerry, they've stabilized him. Let's go in."

Mrs. Morstan huffed one last time, before following her husband inside the room, where the code team was shuffling out. From what I could tell from Brian's monitors, he had been stabilized again, with the addition of a respirator.

I stood standing in the hallway for a few more moments, watching the Morstans fuss over their only son- and my closest friend- comatose, with his chances of waking up getting slimmer by the moment. And my resolve strengthened yet again- I would find the bastard- and there was no telling what I'd do when I did.

As I turned away from Brian's room and began walking briskly down the ICU corridor, my cell phone rang. Maggie.

"Results from the crime lab?" I asked.

Maggie spoke, her voice belaying a hint of excitement. "Jake, I'm coming to get you. The crime lab has something very interesting for us."

* * *

"We found traces of gunpowder on Agent Morstan's clothes that he was wearing that night," the munitions expert, a tall man with thinning salt and pepper hair, announced. "There's also indication of burnt fibers near the entrance wounds, as if he was shot." 

"You're kidding. How is that possible?" Lestrade glared the technician. "He wasn't shot!"

He shrugged, oblivious to Lestrade's discomfort. "And Joe, our splatter guy, says the splatter's inconsistent with the stab wounds Morstan received. They're still working on the car, but that's what he's been saying."

Lestrade was beginning to fume. "But he was stabbed. I saw the wounds myself."

He shrugged again. "I'm just telling you what we know, sir. You ought to check the hospital reports. Maybe there's something in there that they found that we missed."

Lestrade turned to Maggie, his face positively red. "You better get on those reports, Maggie. Watson won't let me near those records if I show up."

Maggie glanced at me. "Holmes and I will go then. See you later." Maggie and I left the lab, leaving Lestrade there arguing with the technician about the absurdity of the results.

"So, back to the hospital?" Maggie asked. "Dr. Watson needs to waive HIPAA for us."

Thinking back on this morning's argument, I realized that I wasn't sure where Watson had retreated to. "I don't know where she is, Maggie. Why don't we split up? You can try the hospital, and I'll try the house."

"Ok. I'll drop you off."

* * *

Watson was sitting in the middle of her living room floor surrounded by a bunch of papers, most of them with some sort of official header. 

I recognized the plastic file folder to one as the one lime green one that Brian stuck all his important papers in, the one his former partner Jason- and my brother- had given him one Christmas to keep Brian organized. Apparently, it had worked.

"What are you looking for?"

She looked up at me, her face blotchy, her eyes puffy, her cheeks sallow. She had been crying again.

I sat down on the floor next to her, and handed her the nearest tissue box.

"A copy of Brian's advanced health care directive." She blew her nose loudly into a tissue.

"You're the proxy?"

She nodded, her voice dropping to a soft whisper. "He didn't want the respirator, Jake. And then _Cruella_ shows up, makes this huge fuss, and they put him on because the hospital didn't have one on file and I didn't have a copy of the directive with me. I mean, I haven't been home in four days." Tears began to fall again, and I placed a tentative arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, feeling her relax against me. "Parental rights trumped mine in this case. I'm not married to him yet."

"Is this it?" I pulled out a stapled notarized copy of what looked to be the directive, handing it to Watson, releasing her shoulders abruptly.

She took it silently, read it, and nodded. "Yeah. I'll have to take this to the hospital."

She began to gather the papers- letters, contracts, legal documents- together, before methodically placing them one by one back into the lime green plastic file folder.

"What about that one?" I pointed at the last piece, a simple envelope addressed to Laura.

* * *

Watson's POV. 

It had already been the worst day in the world before Holmes drew my attention to the simple envelope addressed to me in Brian's handwriting, something that I had never seen before but was important enough to Brian to be kept in his special folder.

My hands trembled when I took the envelope, unsure as to what I would find inside. Brian was never one to keep secrets, and finding this was quite the jolt. I gingerly unfolded the single sheet of paper and began to read.

_Laura, my dear finance,_

_It'll be ten months tonight- can you believe it? You're asleep, and I should be. I've just been doing a lot of thinking tonight. I must say I was worried for a moment there, about whether or not you were going to say yes- and even more so after that, that you would decide that you didn't want to marry me after all the options had been presented to you. But it's over, isn't it, love, and we're on our way to be married. We're finally engaged, and I couldn't be happier._

_I wouldn't change you for anything, you know. I've been crazy about you since the first day I met you, and you must know this (seeing as how I took a bullet for you and all). But there's one thing that's been bothering me, and it's really small- so small. I'm sure you have no idea you're doing it. But even now, I can see it._

_You get this look, sometimes, when you and I are curled up on the couch and you've drifted off to sleep, this beautiful look, with the most serene smile, as if the horrors you see every day have evaporated, and there's nothing in the world that could disturb you. And when I wake up you up so that we can go to bed, just for a slight moment, before you're fully awake, you look at me, with this puzzled look on your face. I've been trying to figure the look out, and I realized last week what it really meant- I'm not the one you've expected to wake up next to._

_And I know this is SO trivial- and I don't know which really bothers me more, that you never told me, or that I know who it is. I don't blame you for not telling me; it's in the past, because you did agree to marry me. And you didn't change your mind._

_I'm glad that what we have isn't like that, glad that you've agreed to marry me and not regret it. Of course, my innate insecurity thinks that it might be too soon to hope so. But he came back tonight-but you're still here- with me, so call me an eternal optimist._

_Besides, you'd be surprised if you knew, as it wasn't you who really gave it away, but Jake. Jake forgets that I've known him for a long time, that I can read his emotions no matter how hard he tries to hide them. I'm not his friend for nothing. And that night I went up to visit him, the look on his face when I asked about you- a flash of longing and regret- and his clever sidestepping of the question I asked him confirmed it without a doubt for me._

_And it makes me think, makes me wonder if I did the right thing by asking you- before he had a chance to. You know that you mean so much to me, Laura, that I wouldn't give you up, but I can't also help but think I'm being quite selfish, as I'm taking away the only person he's really cared about since his brother passed. And I wonder, if it's worse, because it's me- his only other friend- doing it. Am I such agreedySOB that I would deny him the only woman he cares about?_

_I feel incredibly lucky- but I would think that he must feel very lonely at this moment, unwilling to begrudge me my happiness- and yours._

_I wonder, also, if it would comfort him, knowing that you still think about him? But I don't know if I could tell him, because I'm still selfish, you see, and I couldn't bear to lose him- or you._

_Love,_

_- Brian_

I clutched the letter tightly in my hand, willing myself to read it again, to make sure that it wasn't a dream. It wasn't until after my third time through that I dared to look up- and face Holmes, who at this point seemed unable to contain his curiosity, yet while trying to seem as nonchalant as possible.

"A love letter?" he asked after studying me for a brief moment.

"You could say that," I managed to utter, my voice seemingly foreign.

"All right then." His voice turned business like. "I need you to call the trauma surgeon who operated on Brian. There are some discrepancies we need to clear up."

"What?" I was in complete disbelief, still trying to figure out what to do about the letter.

"Call the surgeon, Watson. I need to talk to him to verify my working theory." He seemed to be growing impatient, unaware that my hesitation had nothing to do with the case at hand, but rather, the revelations in the letter that Brian obviously did not plan on giving to me any time soon.

I nodded out of habit however, picking up the phone and dialing the hospital. The nurses in the trauma ward informed me that Dr. Brown (the man who operated on Brian) was currently in the OR for another hour, and that detectives could come by afterward. I relayed the information to Holmes.

"Do you need to be there in order for them to speak to me?"

I shook my head. "No."

"I'll be going back to the hospital then."

"You're not even going to ask?"

"About what was in the letter? No." He cocked an eyebrow. "Why should I? It's something between you and Brian."

"It's about you too." I swallowed uneasily. "You should read it," I thrust the letter at him, unsure of anything anymore.

He merely glanced at it, before his piercing gaze met mine. "It's not addressed to me, Watson. I highly doubt that Brian would have wanted to me to read it, especially if I am mentioned in there."

"You really don't care, do you? This is just another case."

I watched as Holmes' face contorted in numerous emotions- anger, resentment, resignation- before finally settling on a careful neutrality, at which point, he took the letter from my outstretched hand, folded it neatly back into quarters, reached for my hand, and put the letter back into my palm, using his fingers to close mine around the letter. "If I read it now," he began slowly, "I will never be able to solve this case. Brian deserves better than that."

He then dropped my hand, turned, and let himself out, leaving me standing there, bewildered as to everything that had just happened.

* * *

Holmes' POV: 

"Dr. Brown, thank you for talking to us," I greeted the doctor, a stout young man in his mid thirties, who looked rather weary. Tired, no doubt, from a long day.

"Any time, detectives. Now, you're here to ask me about the Morstan case?"

"Yes. Can you tell us about his injuries when he was brought in?" Maggie piped up.

"Your victim was hanging on to dear life. He had 5 stab wounds. The three in the neck were very superficial, just mere grazes, if that. It was the 2 in the chest that really did him in."

"What do you mean?" Maggie asked.

The doctor frowned a bit, and pulled out the chart to refer to his notes. "They were very odd wounds, detective. Not your typical clean stabs, because there was injury to places outside the typical path of the knife. I remember having a hard time trying to sew him back up after we stopped the bleeding. The tissue flaps didn't seem to meet right."

My theory was slowly coming together. "Dr. Brown, did you notice any bullet fragments, or any burnt tissue?"

The doctor looked surprised. "We actually found a couple bullet fragments and there was burnt tissue by the wound. Has he previously been shot before?"

Maggie answered. "Not in the chest."

Dr. Brown's eyebrows furrowed. "Given the type of tissue damage we saw inside, I'm almost positive that Agent Morstan was most likely-."

"-shot." I finishedthesentence for the surprised doctor. "I agree with you, Dr. Brown. In fact, I'm sure that he was shot, and then stabbed. And whoever did it tried to cover his tracks by cutting the bullets out. That'll account for your-"

Maggie gasped. "The stab wounds. The perp removed the bullets."

I nodded. "Yes, I've been sure of that ever since I saw the lack of defensive wounds on Brian's hands. He's a big guy, Maggie, and thus no one- especially not little Dr. Watson- would be able to stab Brian a second time and get away with it."

"He was stabbed 3 times in the neck too, Holmes," Maggie countered.

I shook my head. "Tut, tut. Like the good doctorwas saying- those 3 wounds in the neck were just simple graze wounds. Think about it. When Brian was shot, and his shooter took out the bullets so he couldn't be identified, he obviously had to know what he was doing. Do you think someone like that would ever mess up trying to cut someone in the neck? Highly doubtful."

Dr. Brown seemed amazed, but I couldn't manage my usual smile at a successful deduction. There was much more at stake this time- and plenty more to do.

Maggie was already working at high gear. "That's got to be a distinct MO- removing the bullet from the victim after shooting him. I'm heading back to the office to run some searches."

"Thank you, Dr. Brown."

The doctor smiled. "No need, detectives. Have the nurses page me if you need anything else."

Maggie and I left the hospital. "You coming with, Holmes?" she asked.

"Actually, Maggie, I need to check up on something else. You go on ahead."

She waved and hopped into her car, before peeling away. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the Central Precinct. "Detective Hopkins, please."

* * *

AN: to my readers: I have to really ask your forgiveness because school started 8/1 and I haven't had a spare moment yet.Sorry about the delay (remember my habit of writing the end first? Well,big chunks of the ending have been written, but I had a hard time with this chapter.)Hope it's up to par (this chapter hasn't really been proofread- or even verified medically speaking-in my haste to get it out). Thanks for reading, as always! 

Masked Phantom: Holmes definitely cares for Brian. Almost too much, some would say. Ah, but the flames between Holmes and Watson? Who knows? Sometimes, it could just be how awkward things can get between folks who have history.

Hermione Holmes: Jake is such a bum. But he can't help it, he's just socially ungraceful. Glad you really like the POVs! I must say, I should be apologizing for the huge delay in updating. School has been quite busier than normal. Anyway, I have plenty of tips about the MCAT and med school stuff- just email me (I think it's up in my profile) and I'll be happy to answer them- unless you've taken the August MCAT already in which case more power to you!

AerynFire: I am really so incredibly flattered to have an author (x2) who I admire SO very much to leave a review- and imagine my absolute delight and euphoria when I read such a wonderful review! I was (and still am) so relieved that you find this story plausible, and the POVs believable. Thank you so much. (Of course, I would have loved any criticism as well, so honestly, this was just such a thrill for me!)

psychoanalyst: glad you like it! Yes, they've had quite a rough and tumble kind of ride. (See previous stories, I guess). Sorry about the huge delay in update.

Kittenchatter: Oh faithful reader! Haha, you're giving away the whole story! Just kidding… or am I? Anyway, I won't say anymore other than, yeah, part of me can really see them just chilling on the front porch, but who knows? Glad you like the switching of the POVs, Holmes's look, and the conversation between Jake and Brian. Anyway, enjoy this one!

QueenofSpain: Yes, Holmes POV is SO dry, which is why it drives me nuts to write it (Can you tell I'm much more, uh, emotional/crazier than Holmes is?) Glad you guys enjoyed the POV switches.

L'Wren: Glad I made your day! Hope this chapter helps!

snowwolf: thanks for sticking with me all this time! Hope college isn't driving you too crazy!

Moonjava: Thanks for being so understanding, and I'm glad you're enjoying this!


	5. Unraveling

AN: Anything resembling ACD's is his.

Holmes' POV

A mere thirty minutes later, Hopkins and I were at Ronald Adair's apartment in a downtown luxury building on the 7th floor. Hopkins had done some digging into Adair's past, and had informed me that it was clean. Adair was a straight shooter who worked long hours as an investment banker at Ernst & Young, with no record, not even an unpaid parking ticket. He spent occasional free weekends in Las Vegas playing poker, according to his colleagues, since he broke up with his last serious girlfriend about three months ago. The girl still had nothing bad to say about him, noting that the breakup was mutual. Hopkins, thus, seemed rather skeptical of the re-interview, given Adair's background, and he insisted, rather, that Adair seemed like any successful single young man.

I didn't blame him for thinking that way. But I always followed my instincts, and this time, Adair's behavior after finding Brian was definitely odd, especially for someone claiming to be a bystander. At this point, Hopkins agreed with me, and finally agreed to set up a meeting.

Hopkins had rang the doorbell, and Adair opened the door, inviting us in. "Good morning detectives."

Adair was a middle-sized, strongly built man with a square jaw line and a thick neck. His smile seemed genuine. The way he carried himself, however, seemed very distinctive- yet familiar. I couldn't quite place my finger on what it was just that moment, but I was sure I could figure it out.

"Sorry to bother you so early, Mr. Adair," Hopkins soothed amiably. "We want to put this to an end as soon as possible. Hopefully we're not making you miss work?"

He nodded. "It's all right, detectives. I'm taking some time off this week and the next."

My ears perked up. "Oh? Going anywhere?" My eyes darted around the room before settling on the half packed travel suitcase in the middle of the living room floor, surrounded by a bachelor worthy collection of black leather furniture.

"Going to visit my sister, actually. In New York," Adair answered with a twinge of nervousness. He held his hands together in front of him, unsuccessfully trying to prevent his fingers from shaking.

Hopkins smiled affably. "Well, then, I'm glad we're able to wrap this up before you leave. Thanks again for obliging us."

Adair seemed to relax, as he gestured to the couch in the living room. "Of course." He sat down in the stark black leather recliner, and Hopkins took a seat on the couch directly across from him. I didn't sit, but rather, began walking around the apartment.

"You don't mind if my partner remains standing, do you, Ron? He's got something of a back problem." Hopkins smiled, and Adair, who was watching me with narrowed eyes, seemed slightly reassured, shaking his head.

"No, no, of course not. So, what did you need to me clarify?"

Hopkins pulled out his notebook. "Well, let's just go over that night again, from the top. Sometimes I find that people will remember details that they left out or forgot about in the shock following that moment. So…"

Adair let out a sigh, and began his story. I found myself half listening to Adair retell the events of the night, before finally pausing before Adair's desk, my eyes settling on a sheet of paper that seemed different from the rest. Granted, it was not unusual for an investment banker to have a sheet of paper with a list of names- some individual names, some charitable organization names- matched up with dollar amounts on his desk- but there was one name on the sheet that caught my eye, a name that suggested that my instincts had not been wrong.

I turned my full attention back towards Adair, who appeared to have finished retelling his story to Hopkins, and was now showing the young detective a particular picture on his wall.

"It's autographed, you see," Adair proudly announced, gesturing to the picture.

Hopkins let out a low wolf whistle. "To Ron, may luck always be with you, Johnny," he read. "That's pretty amazing."

Adair smiled, but it didn't seem to reach his eyes. "Yeah. I got a chance to play Johnny Chan when I entered in a poker tournament fundraiser two weeks ago."

"I heard about that on ESPN. Wasn't it a team affair? Amateurs versus the World Poker Tour pros? With half of the proceeds going to charity and winners getting to pocket the rest?"

Adair whirled around and stared at me. "Yes, detective. It was." His voice was light, but apprehensive.

"Must have raised a lot of money for charity," Hopkins piped up.

Adair's smile disappeared. "Yes."

"You're a good poker player, Mr. Adair. After all, you made the final table. With your teammate."

Adair stared incredulously at me for a moment, before finding his voice. "I think I'm done talking to you both, detectives. Please leave."

Hopkins looked slightly frantic. "Mr. Adair, I'm sorry if we've offended you in some way but please reconsider."

The witness, who was still staring at me, shook his head. "Get out, detectives. I've got a flight to catch."

"Mr. Adair, my partner is right. You have no idea what Colonel Moran is capable of."

With that, the color drained completely from Adair's face. "You- you don't know what you're talking about!" he sputtered. "Please. Leave."

Everything had fallen into place- I knew who and why- and yet the main witness was still refusing to cooperate.

Before I knew it, I found myself grabbing Adair's shirt collar, pining Adair against the wall (no small feat, as he was strongly built, if I may say so). "Listen, Mr. Adair. My best friend in the entire world is this close to dying because he took the bullet that was meant for you. Now you can suck it up, quit running, and do the right thing by telling me where to find Moran, or you can run to New York, where Moran will find you anyway, knowing that your cowardly ways have led to the death of a man much more courageous than you," I hissed.

Hopkins, momentarily startled, quickly came over and pulled me off. "Holmes. Control yourself."

I must admit I was just as shocked as anyone after I let go of Adair. I was never one to lose control, especially over my emotions. I should have never come down. I was only jeopardizing the case, being blinded by my concern for Brian- overzealous to a fault.

Adair sank to the floor, burying his head in his hands for a brief moment before looking up at Hopkins and I. "He actually tried to kill me but shot your friend instead. Promise me protection and I'll do it. I'll tell you everything."

Hopkins nodded. "Ok, Ron. Come on, let's head down to the station. We'll take care of you." He pulled Ron off the floor and led him out, beckoning me to follow.

I closed the door behind me. Once I was in the hallway, I pulled out my cell phone. "Lestrade? It's Jake. Can you send a crime scene team to the 2nd floor of the abandoned building across from Bagatelle's?"

* * *

Hopkins, Maggie and I were sitting in Lestrade's office a while later, waiting for Lestrade to return from the abandoned building so we could finish briefing him on Adair's story. "So, Holmes, how the devil did you figure this one out?" Hopkins suddenly turned to me, ending the soft conversation he was having with Maggie about setting up witness protection for Adair. 

"The window across the street from Bagatelle's, Hopkins."

He pulled out his notebook containing his sketch of the crime scene. "Of the abandoned building?"

"Yes. Much of crime scene analysis is about finding what's out of place, as you know. In this particular case, the clean window in the abandoned building across the street, and the witness's behavior were the two things out of place. That, in addition to the crime being an actual primary shooting instead of a stabbing as originally thought suggested that the perpetrator was at the window, and probably mistook Brian for Adair, who was the real target. An easy thing do, since they resemble each other, and I am positive that Mr. Adair realized this. This much I had figured out going into re-interview with him. The only thing I didn't know was the motive, which going to his apartment provided."

"And the motive?" Maggie inquired.

Before I could answer, Lestrade strode through the door, his steps heavy. "You sent me chasing cigar ashes, Holmes? Do you think this is a joke?"

I shook my head. "Not just any cigar ashes. If I'm not mistaken, they'll be from Montecristo B's, a very rare limited edition release every year available only in Cuba in one cigar store. I called the store, and the owner just faxed in this receipt showing Moran's purchase of these cigars only two weeks ago." I handed Lestrade the receipt.

"So this Colonel Moran smokes expensive cigars. It's still only circumstantial with ashes and eyewitness testimony," Lestrade huffed as he glanced at the receipt. "How about some physical evidence?"

"We need to find the bullets," Maggie piped up. "The cigar ash should give us enough probable cause to get a warrant to search Moran's place, his car…"

"Might be difficult. I bet you he tossed those bullets the moment he cut them out. Why would he keep them if he didn't want his gun to be identified in the first place?"

Lestrade looked pained. "Let's go ahead and get that warrant anyway." He turned to face Hopkins. "Want to bring him in while we search his place?"

He nodded. "Maybe we can get a confession out of it."

"Maybe not," I interjected. "He doesn't know we have Adair yet. Why don't we set a trap?"

* * *

It was nearing midnight when I ducked into Brian's hospital room, managing to avoid the surly nurses who would have loved to point out that this was way past visiting hours. Watson was curled up in the hospital chair next to the bed with her eyes closed, and the Morstans were nowhere in sight. Brian was still intubated, hooked up to the nearby mechanical ventilator, which was giving off a low hum that blanketed the room. The cardiac monitor beeped softly overhead, a seemingly artificial cadence that reassured me that I wasn't too late.

"It's late, Holmes," Watson whispered as her eyelids fluttered open with the sound of my approaching footsteps.

"Mr. and Mrs. Morstan?"

She stretched out her arms and legs and stood up. "They're at the house. You should head back too, get some sleep."

I nodded stiffly, but didn't move from Brian's side. We watched him for a few minutes before I broke the silence by clearing my throat. "I thought you'd have brought in the directive already, withdrew the respirator."

"I couldn't."

I turned to face her. "He's showing signs of improvement?"

"No. He's getting worse."

"Which means what?"

Watson sighed, her voice barely audible. "He's in heart failure."

"Don't avoid my question, Watson."

"He's dying. Even with the life support, the diuretics, the pressors …" her voice trailed off momentarily before she continued on. "Even with the life support he's got a few days, maybe a week at the most."

"But he never wanted to be on a ventilator anyway. You said so yourself."

"I know."

"So why haven't you withdrawn the life support? You know he's in pain. And yet you still can't put him out of his misery. You…" I stopped abruptly, realizing that my rising voice had brought the nurse to the room.

"Laura, you know it's after visiting hours. This gentleman needs to go. Only one family member is allowed to stay the night," she gently chided as she eyed me suspiciously.

"It'll be just a moment, Betty."

"A few more minutes." Betty cast another dirty look my way, harrumphed one more time, and then retreated.

Watson's eyes began to tear, but didn't say anything as she gently stroked Brian's forearm with her left hand.

My eyes narrowed. "You know his wishes about life support. You should have done as he wanted. Even if Mrs. Morstan didn't want to."

"I know."

"Then why haven't you?" I realized that I was being unreasonable, with the slight possibility of treating Watson unfairly. I just couldn't have her make the same mistakes I made with my brother, allowing him to stay on life support for months after multiple gunshot wounds to the head, with a Glasgow coma score of 4, neurologically dead. Brian, who was with me at the time, was the one who made me realize that I was doing so selfishly, that I was only prolonging the inevitable, that Brian deserved better than that, that he deserved to go on, pain free. Brian was my support, my strength through that time, and I just couldn't let him suffer.

Watson turned to face me, her eyes glistening with tears. "I was waiting."

"For him to go naturally? You just said yourself it could be days more, a week even."

She reached over, grabbed my hand, and put it on Brian's, before meeting my surprised gaze. "No, Jake. I was waiting so you could say goodbye."

* * *

AN: So I know it's been ages (understatement) since I've updated, but here is Chapter 5. I just hit the biggest block after Chapter 4, and couldn't write anymore. However, I just wrote this lovely little scene meant to go at the end of this story, so I WILL FINISH! Thank you all for being so patient with me- I won't even pretend that working 10-12 hours a day (not including overnight call) is an excuse for just being a lazy writer. Forgive me? And I hope that Holmes losing his cool a bit isn't a bit too far fetched…

Jesse: Thanks! Here's the update as promised.

Queen of Spain: I can't blame you for trying. You can blame me totally for being a lazy writer and thus, you're allowed to yell at me whenever you want! And yes, Holmes' POV is dry. Almost as bad as champagne. (Sorry, can you blame me for trying to make you laugh and forget about my nonexistent manners?)

Mizu-Magaru-Sensei: Here you go!

Kittenchatter: Yeah, Brian's mother is just a teensy bit overprotective. Besides, with Laura's past, can you blame her? The letter was hard, because it's practically the only time I can have Brian tell his side of the story here in this story up to this point. How else could I show him in the middle, like he really is? In fact, the thing I'm trying to do the most with this story is to have each person I in this lovely little triangle think they're caught in the middle- after all, it's the choices we make which define who we are!

Hermione Holmes: I know, I had so much fun with the bullet removal story, even though I'm sure it's not medically accurate at all. Hopefully the MCAT studying is going well, if you're taking it in April!

Moonrose1: Yeah, Brian is nice. At least you're hoping he recovers!!

Snowwolf1985: Hope college is still going well. Watson appreciates all your love and support! And I just hope you're still reading this!

psychoanalyst: It's always so hard- I feel like my characters deserve justice and people to love them, even mean old Mrs. Morstan. But who says life is fair? And yes, I hope you were right in figuring out who stabbed Brian! After all… this is very much based on The Adventure of the Empty House… which I figured was appropriate because that story, as you know, reunites Watson and Holmes in canon.

L'Wren: Thanks for reading, even though it's not medically verified. Hope you like it!


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